


Bloody Hay

by RoostersCromedCDF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, MusketeerBrothers, Whump!Aramis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26631685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoostersCromedCDF/pseuds/RoostersCromedCDF
Summary: Be careful what you wish for. What starts as a light-hearted afternoon in the stables turns into a nightmare for Aramis, but at the end of the day all that counts is that his brothers are at his side.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	Bloody Hay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Barbara69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbara69/gifts).



> This story should remind wonderful barbara69 that even in bad times good friends are always there for you!
> 
> Special thanks to Venea_Taur who helped me with my translation and grammar.
> 
> And again: Many thanks to my awesome beta reader DeadShotMusketeer who worked with me to find the theme of the story - and all the other things belonging to storytelling. I am so grateful for that!
> 
> Remaining errors, holes in the plot and typos are all mine.
> 
> _________________________________________________________

_Punishment. What a way to spend a beautiful day._

With his gaze steadfast on the blue sky beyond the open stable doors, Aramis grinned as he scooped up the next pile of horse manure. It was peaceful in the stable, no one was to be seen and all the horses were put out to graze on the small paddocks at the back of the garrison.

The straw rustled when he stuck his fork through, and the typical smell of fresh dung rose to his nose. But Aramis didn't mind. The work was hard but satisfying. He almost wished his brothers were here. Not to help, but rather, to enjoy the day. But they were all busy elsewhere. He folded up his shirt sleeves as the summer afternoon heat suddenly hit with full force, causing sweat to break out across his forehead and back.

Despite the heat, Aramis loved this form of extra duty and understood that Treville also appreciated how much he enjoyed working in the stables. He had given him the opportunity to vanish into thin air for a couple of hours without losing face. _I should never have let those filthy Red Guards provoke me to violence. Perhaps if my brothers were there they would have stopped me._

He sighed as he stared back out the stable door. _But then, I wouldn’t have had the day to return to good honest work mucking out the stables._ The steady rhythm of repetitive work soothed his anger, which would lead to Aramis finding his equilibrium again. But he couldn’t deny that having his brothers nearby would make the task more enjoyable.

When the last bale of straw had been shaken and spread, Aramis grabbed a halter with a lead rope and went out to the paddocks full of anticipation of working with his horse.

“Solitario!” The head of the brown stallion shot up and big eyes looked back at him. “Come on, my lonely one.”

The horse approached Aramis, his wet nose laying down in the bend of Aramis' neck to greet him as it sniffed in and out deeply. Since he had first seen the stallion, this was how they greeted each other. The marksman took both the horse’s cheeks in his hands, stroked them gently and followed the contours of the massive head up to the soft nostrils. And as always, Aramis had to smile, lost in thoughts as he felt the animal's searching lips nibble his shirt.

“Hey, stop that.” Aramis ran his hand between Solitario’s ears and exerted a slight pressure. As answer, the horse lowered his head and drove into the halter. “Good boy.”

With slacked rope they went back to the stable. The heat of the day bounced off the brick walls of the garrison and their steps stirred up the dust of the dry path. It hadn't rained in weeks, and even the grass along the house wall had given way to the monotonous desert brown.

Serge carrying a large basket of onions, grinned at him as he passed by. “Huh? Extra duty or mission?”

Aramis stopped with Solitario, raised his eyebrows and remained silent. Serge laid down the heavy basket with a sigh then wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Extra duty, then.”

Aramis shook his head and grinned. “You know you have to take advantage of opportunities as they come. Solitario needs some training anyway, so we'll go to the riding arena and practice some dry runs.”

“How are you getting on with him?”

“Good... well, better. You know how difficult it can be breaking in a new friend, but all the work is paying off. He's made a lot of progress, and he reacts very well to the other horses. I think he even misses them when they’re not around. He can still be a little temperamental, get anxious when the unexpected happens.” Aramis stroked Solitario’s shiny, strong neck. “But he’ll be fine with time.”

“I knew you could do it, son. Keep it up. Today I cooked stew with fresh bacon, so there's something for you and your three cohorts to look forward to later. But don't you dare sit at the table dressed like that.”

“What?” Aramis raised his hands and eyebrow in feigned horror. “I always look handsome.”

Serge smiled, picked up the heavy basket and made his way back to the kitchen area. Aramis hadn't made two steps when Serge's voice held him back again. “And if you see the lad, tell him I've been waiting for my eggs for half an hour. If he wants fresh brioche tomorrow, he'd better hurry up.”

“D'Artagnan? Where is he?”

“In the chicken coop! I don't know what he's been up to all this time. I swear, this whippersnapper is causing me a heap of trouble. If you want something done, do it yourself.” Serge twisted his nose, shook his head and headed off.

Aramis returned to the stable, the thick walls and small glassless windows, which allowed a gentle breeze to enter, provided a blissful shelter from the outside heat. Aramis let the cool reprieve encompass him as he watched two swallows tamper with their nest in the corner of one of the stalls. Four hungry mouths stretched out towards them. Soon they would be heading southwards again and herald the end of summer, each of their lives taking on their own journeys. _Four little birds finding their way._ “May you always find your way back to each other,” he said to them with a wink.

Solitario's hooves echoed in the empty, neatly swept stable lane. Two stable boys were about to distribute hay with a large, fully loaded wheelbarrow wherein Solitario grabbed a few blades as they passed. Aramis placed the stallion in the middle of the stable alley tying him to ropes from both sides. Even though the stallion was a touch too small for a Musketeer horse, his strength and elegance compensated for this tiny flaw. Aramis inhaled the strong horse aroma once more when he was startled by screaming and shouting from behind. Solitario jerked, but Aramis managed to calm him quickly.

Knowing he could leave Solitario alone for a moment, Aramis headed toward the commotion outside. As he took his first step out of the stable, a chicken rushed between his legs causing him to stumble.

“Hey! What's...?”

“Catch it! Hurry!” D'Artagnan, not a metre behind the chicken, crashed into Aramis, knocking him against the nearby open door. “Sorry,” he called, as he hurried after the chicken.

Aramis hissed in pain as he held his hip, which had struck the wooden door. But seeing D'Artagnan scrambling- his hair flying frantically around his sweaty face as he chased the fluttering chicken in a cloud of dust, lessened the pain of his aggravated hip.

Clucking and more frantic stable workers and off-duty Musketeers joined the foray, and Aramis noticed that apparently all the inhabitants of the aviary were scattered across the garrison’s courtyard. The guard dog had also joined in the hustle, barking and pouncing as he burst into the chaos of feathers, wings and flailing arms. At once, Aramis understood why Serge was still waiting for his eggs, and he knew with utmost certainty who would be the next one put on extra duty.

“Damn it, Aramis, help me already,” D'Artagnan snarked at Aramis, as he ran past bent over trying to scoop up a wayward chicken.

“I am sorry, _mon ami._ I've got Solitario standing in the stable lane, but I'll send help right away.” Aramis mockingly bowed as he teased his young friend, then turned back into the stable.

The stable boys were pushing an empty wheelbarrow back into an open shed next to where Solitario stood. Aramis surmised they were gathering more food for the horses. “You two! Leave that now. I'll see to the evening feeding later. For heaven's sake, help D'Artagnan collect the chickens.”

The addressed stared at Aramis with big eyes, but when a chicken flew into the stable lane huge grins covered their faces. Without saying another word they left the wheelbarrow, dropped their hayforks and lunged after the chicken. Unfortunately, their chase led the bird fluttering between Solitario's legs, and the stallion shifted back and forth.

Aramis grabbed his halter. “Woah,” he hummed in a deep tone which typically had a calming effect on Solitario.

Suddenly, and most likely spurred on by chaos now in the stable, the chicken decided to flee back into the outside world again. Solitario snorted, but let Aramis calm him down enough to stop prancing.

The noise in front of the stable door grew louder again, it cracked and rattled, excited voices were blown into the stable lane. Solitario laid back his ears and stiffened again, but Aramis, ignoring the tension running through the horse's body, started to comb the mane, brushstroke after brushstroke. As the stallion lowered his head in a relaxed manner, another chicken flew screeching into the stable lane landing on the croup of the horse. Solitario jerked and pranced again.

“Get away!” Aramis tried to scare the chicken away, but the chicken stubbornly remained seated, and clawed into the horse's hindquarters for support. Solitario kicked out.

“Woah!” Now focusing less on the chicken and more on Solitario, Aramis evaded his hooves and placed a hand on the stiffened neck of the animal. It worked, even if the stallion continued to blow hard through his nostrils.

At that moment, another chicken raced into the stable lane, followed by the yapping guard dog. The chicken on Solitario's croup screeched again, flapping its wings. Attracted by the movement, the second chicken fluttered onto the seemingly safer perch and Solitario threw himself backwards into the halter.

“ _Merde_!” Aramis desperately tried to loosen the carabiner of the holding rope before Solitario would break free or strangle himself with the halter. He had just grabbed the carabiner, when the guard dog slid against the stallion's trembling hind legs, and came to lie under him. Solitario shot forward in one leap, dragging Aramis, whose hand was caught in the halter. The holding ropes didn't tear, and so the movement ended abruptly. A sharp pain rushed through Aramis' finger, but he didn't let go and kept trying to loosen the halter.

The chickens now fluttered around Solitario's head, and the dog emerged barking from under the stallion. But the horse reared and pulled back again. A half-ton of live-weight threw itself against the ropes and Aramis finally managed to pull his hand out of the halter. Suddenly the ropes tore out of their holders and Solitario was hurled on his hindquarters by the yielding. To not lose his balance, the stallion moved with his front legs, managing to straighten up again as he drifted dangerously towards Aramis.

“No!” Aramis raised both hands as the full weight of Solitario crashed into him. Trying to brace himself against the horse, he knew in a split second that it was a pointless effort. As if time was slowed down, Aramis crashed backwards into the hay shed.

Aramis hit the ground hard, his impact only dampened by the hay lying on the stall’s floor. But a sharp, unexpected pain shot through the side of his body. Aramis couldn’t breathe. Couldn't get enough air into his lungs. His heart thumped in his chest as a cold sweat covered his skin. Seeing the swallows circling above him, smelling the spice of hay, and hearing an excited voice calling for Solitario while all the while tasting bloody copper in his mouth, Aramis’ senses sharpened for only a moment. Something terrible had just happened to him, and he didn’t know what. All he knew was that he wished he wasn’t alone, before is world stood still as darkness enveloped him.

****

The first thing Athos saw when he and Porthos rode tired and hungry through the gate into the garrison was a fluttering chicken. _No_ , he corrected himself, _this is definitely more than a chicken_.

Porthos’ head pivoted back and forth, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “What the hell's going on here?”

Agitated poultry, and no less agitated Musketeers, were running, jumping and scrambling throughout the courtyard. Loud shrieks and screams, interspersed with laughter and a dog barking combined with rattling buckets, outstretched arms and flying feathers and chicken claws.

Porthos slapped his palm against his forehead. “I don't want to know which poor bastard is responsible for this. Treville is going to grind him down. No, destroy him, or better yet, gut him like a dead chicken.”

A laugh itched at the corners of Athos’ mouth. He couldn't remember ever seeing such a mess in the garrison, and he too felt sorry for the poor man who would surely get more than his come-uppance.

Dismounting his gelding, Athos addressed the stable boy who had approached through the chaos. “What happened?”

“D'Artagnan was supposed to fetch eggs from the aviary for Serge, but he was distracted.”

Porthos dismounted beside Athos and shook his head. “You're not serious, are you? D'Artagnan is the cause of this mess? My God, the poor pup. Well, it seems like you'll have plenty of help in the stables over the next few weeks.”

The stable boy scratched his head. “Yes, Sir. That seems to be the new rule at the moment. Aramis already mucked out all the stalls this afternoon.”

Athos' smile gave way to a raised eyebrow. “Aramis? What has he done this time? Can't I get away for even one day without everyone going mad?”

Porthos whistled through his teeth. “It's a dangerous business going out your door, Athos.”

Athos' second eyebrow went up. “And what, dear Porthos, are you trying to tell me?”

Porthos grinned with a mischievous glint in his eyes, but turned to the stable boy. “Well, tell us, what happened to Aramis?”

“I dunno, something with a Red Guard. Aramis has been keeping a very low profile.”

“And where is he now? Don't tell me, chasing a chicken?” Porthos seemed to be amused by Aramis' punishment and Athos suspected that Porthos regretted having taken on the dispatch delivery for he’d missed the spectacle here.

“No, he's preparing Solitario. I believe he's heading for the equestrian arena.”

Athos ran his gloved hand over his face whereby dust mixed with his sweat and left dark smudges. “Never mind, we'll do it ourselves, I would like to talk to Aramis anyway. You'd better help d'Artagnan. If those bloody animals aren't back where they belong soon, Treville will have a heart attack.”

“Yes, Sir, I will,” replied the stable boy before disappearing into the fray of those still trying to contain the chaos in the courtyard.

Porthos frowned. “Really, Athos? We’ll take care of the horses ourselves after seven hours in the saddle? I imagined my evening off differently….”

“Yes, we will do it ourselves.” Athos made his way to the stable, his thoughts already wandering to Aramis. He knew Treville must have had a good reason if he had sentenced Aramis to stable duty, and his curiosity was getting the better of him.

“Whoa!” Athos cautioned, when suddenly Solitario thundered out of the stable and almost knocked him over. Solitario stopped abruptly and rose straight as a candle. Athos’ horse leapt to the side, dragging Athos sideways and inadvertently saving him from the wrath of Porthos’ horse’s front legs crashing down on him.

“Easy!” Athos didn't let go of his reins, and a moment later his gelding settled. Behind him, he heard the stable boy calling after Solitario, but the horse rushed along the path to the paddocks.

With his own mount now under control, Porthos sighed. “Now what was that?” The cheerful expression on Porthos' face was gone. “And where's Aramis? He shouldn't have let his horse run like that?”

Athos threw his reins to Porthos and went around the corner into the stable lane. “He's not here.”

D’Artagnan appeared beside them, face red from exertion. “Maybe Solitario broke free because of the turmoil and Aramis went out the other side to intercept him.”

Porthos slapped d’Artagnan on his shoulder. “Are you kidding me? Who do we owe this mess to, huh? Don't think you're getting away with it so easily, pup.” Portho's harsh words were softened by a friendly wink in his eyes.

Rubbing a hand over his neck, d'Artagnan's eyes darted back and forth between Athos, Porthos and the chaos in the background. “But where is Aramis then?”

Aramis should have been at the back door near the paddocks by now. Athos knew Aramis took his equestrian work seriously, even if Solitario had torn himself loose he’d be out chasing him now. “I don't know. Come now, we'll look after the horses and then we'll go and search for him, he must be somewhere. And d'Artagnan, please, catch the damn chickens.”

The clatter of hooves echoed through the empty stable as Athos led his gelding toward it’s stall. He didn’t bother with the grooming, as he was determined to be finished as quickly as possible.

Athos hung the saddle on the small bracket that was provided for it, then removed the bridle.

“Got any hay over there?” Porthos shouted to him.

“No! I'll get the wheelbarrow and bring you some, too.” He closed the door of the stall behind him and went to the hayshed. When he entered, he stopped dead in his tracks _. “Merde_! Damn it, Porthos, hurry!”

All his blood rushed from his face. Athos' heart skipped a beat. Several beats. His mind refused to believe what his eyes saw. His throat tightened. His lungs refused to cooperate. Aramis lay silent on the hay before him. All too silent. Athos couldn't even tell if he was breathing. And he would be surprised if he was, because there was so much blood.

Porthos stormed past him and fell to his knees next to Aramis. He searched Aramis' neck for a pulse. It seemed like an eternity until Porthos' replied. “He lives. Damn, Athos, move.”

Porthos’ voice trembled almost more than his hands, which were busy palpating Aramis' injured right side.

Athos roused himself from his stupor with lightning speed and put his hand on Porthos’ shoulder. “Stop! Don't touch him! You must not move him under any circumstances, nor the hayfork!”

Porthos pulled back in horror and looked at him with wide eyes. “But we have to get this thing out of him or he'll bleed to death.”

Athos couldn't conceive how a human could survive such blood loss, the sticky liquid had formed a small puddle under Aramis, not to mention how much blood had already been absorbed by the hay. “No...yes...later. We don't know what internal damage the prongs have caused. If we remove the fork without applying tight bandages, he could bleed to death. Right now, the prongs are keeping that blood where it belongs.”

“Naw,” drawled Portho, with a shake of his head. His hands moved back to the hayfork where they gripped it with intensity. “We need to take it out…”

“Stop! I gave you an order!”

Athos tried to remember what he knew about impalement wounds, and figured they couldn't be much different from knife or sword wounds. And the first commandment with dealing with those types of injuries was to leave them embedded until a physician arrived. “Porthos, get a doctor and send d'Artagnan or whomever you can find out there to the infirmary. We need bandages, lots of bandages, needles and thread, hot water, alcohol. Go!”

His loud voice alarmed Porthos, for he stood up and did as he was told without hesitation.

Athos knelt beside Aramis, and touched his pale, cool cheek. He palpated the rest of his body, and it too was freezing cold but covered with sweat despite the heat of the day. _Blankets.You need to keep warm._

Athos stood, wherein the shock of the predicament coursed through him and he listed heavy against the side wall of the hay shed. He swallowed several times and waited a moment before pushing himself off the wall to rush into the tack room. He grabbed three horse blankets and a saddle pad and returned to Aramis.

“Here, _mon ami_ , in a moment you will be warmer.” Athos spread the blankets over Aramis, carefully avoiding the prongs protruding from his side. Next, he laid Aramis’s head on the saddle pad.

“Aramis, come on. Wake up.” Again and again Athos tapped his friend's cheek, shook him as gently as he could until Aramis moaned and began to move, his face distorted in pain.

 _Where the hell are Porthos and d’Artagnan?_ Athos wiped cold sweat from his brother’s brow then pulled the blanket covering Aramis further up his chest. Aramis stirred, bringing a brief moment of relief to Athos’ agitated state.

“Yes, that's it, I am here.” Athos hoped that his voice would guide Aramis back.

Aramis shifted further, his eyelids fluttered.

Athos looked into painful, dark eyes when they opened. “Here you are.” Athos forced himself to smile in the hope of giving Aramis an anchor. Fearing for his friend, a cold shiver ran down his spine. His hand trembled like the morning after a night of too much wine, as he stroked Aramis' cheek again.

“ ’thos...what?” Aramis’ voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. “Damn, it hurts.”

“Everything is fine, Aramis. Try not to move. We’re here. Help is on the way.” Athos looked over his shoulder at the hayshed door. _Merde, where are they? It's been too long!_ When he turned back to Aramis, he noticed blood coming from his lips. Athos pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed the bloody corners of his friend's mouth. “I think you bit your tongue. Don't worry, we'll fix it right away.”

Aramis looked into Athos’ eyes with a mixture of confusion and pain. He seemed to want to say something, so Athos bent down and held his ear to his mouth.

“You’re here?”

Athos stroked a sweaty strand of hair from Aramis’ forehead. “Of course we’re here.”

Aramis’ mouth twisted into a smile, but he started to cough. More blood drained from the side of his mouth, this time darker and more viscous.

_Merde, that’s bad._

The cough turned into a deep groan and Aramis turned paler than he already was. Not taking his eyes off him, Athos placed both hands on his friend's shoulders to stabilize his trembling body.

Aramis' movements calmed, but his breathing faltered and he seemed to have more and more trouble keeping eye contact with Athos. Eventually, his friend’s head drifted sideways, his eyes closed, and the icy fear in Athos gave way to a burning panic. His stomach turned into a lump as his world stood still. Athos had the sudden feeling that he was the last barrier between life and death for his friend.

“No, no, no, stay with me! Come on, don't you dare... _putain de merde_!”

****

_Solitario, stop it!_

Aramis didn’t understand why the horse wouldn’t stop probing him with his rough horse lips. Slowly, the stallion’s nibbles became uncomfortable and he wanted to raise his hand to push the annoyance away. But for some reason he couldn't succeed, a heavy load was weighing him down.

 _Where did all these birds come from_? The chirping of the swallows caused him a headache and the strong smell of the hay irritated his lungs. He had trouble getting one breath after another into his lungs. Solitario's lips became more insistent. When the stallion bit him in the side, he shifted wherein a wave of pain washed through his whole body. Groaning, Aramis moved his hand to the source of his pain.

“Aramis, calm down, we'll help you in a minute.”

 _Since when can swallows talk?_ The pain made no sense, nothing made sense. Aramis worked his way through the peak of his pain and forced himself to open his eyes, stunned to see the worried faces of his friends above him. _Am I lying down?_

Kneeling beside him, Athos placed a hand on Aramis’ chest. Aramis blinked a few times to break through the shadows of confusion.

Athos' voice trembled. “It's okay, my friend, we're here. Just breathe in and out- that's good. Dr. Boucher is preparing everything. We'll get the hayfork out of you in a moment, then it will be better. But you must keep still now, do you understand?”

Athos’ eyebrows were a touch closer than usual and his lips were thin lines. Only those who knew Athos well knew the signs in his otherwise emotionless face. Aramis couldn't remember the last time Athos had looked so horrified. A glance at the faces of Porthos and d'Artagnan, both kneeling to his left, confirmed that he must be in really bad shape. _If I only knew what...?_

Memories struck Aramis like a bolt of lightning: wings, feathers, a dog, a massive horse's body. Then overwhelming pain and darkness.

“ _Merde,_ ” groaned Aramis. Glancing down his side, he saw two prongs of a hayfork sticking into his right side. The other two were stained with blood, as was his arm, which lay in a pool of blood. Nausea curdled his stomach, but throwing up was the last thing he wanted. He pushed back the nausea as cold shivers ran down his spine.

“Get out, all of you!” Treville's voice cut through the stable, growing in intensity as he neared the stall. “The doctor needs quiet and space to work. And for heaven's sake catch those bloody chickens! That's an order!”

Treville’s face was wrapped in deep worry lines as it appeared over the edge of the hayshed. He glanced at Athos, Porthos and d’Artagnan, then ran a hand down his face. “You three stay with Aramis. Apart, you four are nothing but trouble.” He smiled at Aramis. “Hang in there, son.”

Treville's jaw clenched and Aramis sensed that the captain wanted to say more, but he remained silent. Aramis recognized this expression as well and he didn’t like it. _Oh, that's bad_. Treville gave him a nod, before he turned away and left the stable as well.

Aramis’ gaze wandered to Porthos who had placed his hand on his shoulder. Smiling at him, the firm pressure of his brother's fingers gave him support and comfort which helped him push through the pulsing rhythm of pain throughout his body. Aramis bit his lower lip, a distinct taste of blood on his tongue.

An unfamiliar man got down on his knees beside Athos. He opened a black leather bag and pulled out bandages and brown vials of varying sizes in which he laid out on the ground beside him. “Aramis, I'm Dr. Boucher. We're gonna get that pitchfork out of you now.”

 _Boucher… butcher, that doesn't sound promising_.

The doctor held eye contact with Aramis. “Porthos will pull you towards him, Athos and d'Artagnan will help to twist you over your shoulders and feet and I will remove the hayfork. Do you understand me?”

Aramis pressed his lips together and nodded, hoping for the best. A shiver ran through his body but through the pain he was grateful not to be alone. As long as his brothers were with him, he would get the strength he needed right now to endure the inevitable.

As if in response to his thoughts, Porthos embraced him from the side and bent closer. Aramis smelled his friend's sweat, the typical aroma of gun oil and a touch of fried bacon. The familiar scent triggered snippets of memories of training exercises and joyful evenings they enjoyed all together at Parisian Taverns, and he hoped he would relive these times with his brothers again.

Athos placed both hands under his ribs, his gaze promising to not leave him but to walk through this hell with him. “Brace yourself. We're here, we will make it.”

Aramis nodded, clasped his fingers in Porthos' shirt and pressed his face against his brother's chest. The movement was instantaneous. He was pulled forward by Porthos' strong arms and a sharp rip signaled that Boucher was removing the hayfork with a fierce jerk.

 _That wasn't even that bad!_ Relief flooded through Aramis, they had made it and he was still alive. But nothing had prepared him for the fire that ate through his side like acid. He roared like a wounded fighting bull receiving the death blow with the espada. He found haven burying his face into Porthos' shirt when exploding stars danced before his eyes.

Dr. Boucher's insistent voice penetrated his pain-stricken mind. “Keep him tight, I have to get the alcohol into the wounds!”

The strong hands of his friends took over for Aramis where he failed to hold himself upright. Massive pressure around his wounds and someone wrapping a tight bandage around him let him know he was still alive. The supporting embrace of his brother reminded him why he wanted to be alive. Aramis managed to collect himself with a groan, remembering earlier how he’d wished his friends were here and now regretting what brought them back together.

As he was rolled over, Aramis trembled like a leaf, but the expression on his brothers’ faces assured him that it was over.

Dr. Boucher, who despite his bloody hands, no longer looked at all like a butcher, smiled. “I was able to stop the bleeding so far, the bandage is working, but later I will have to stitch up the wounds. You were incredibly lucky, the hayfork didn't pierce any internal organs. Maybe a slight puncture of the lungs, but since you're still breathing, it shouldn't be too bad. In any case. I'm going to give you a strong painkiller and then we'll take you to the infirmary.”

D'Artagnan's voice sounded hollow, and he was as pale as the whitewashed stable wall. “He's lost so much blood. How can a man survive this?”

A touch of guilt grew in Aramis. _If only I had been more careful… I wanted you all here with me, but not at this expense._

Boucher rose to his feet, and wiped his bloody hands on his trousers. “Yes, that's true, he has lost a lot of blood, but the stone floor makes it seem more than it really was. He must drink a lot in the near future to make up for the blood loss. It's also possible that he will repeatedly spit blood, but it's normal. Pneumatic injuries of this kind heal quickly, so don't worry yourselves too much about it. What worries me is a possible infection of the wound. In any case, I will leave you a tincture to rinse the wound three times a day, and then we hope for the best.”

Aramis heard the doctor tampering with the vials while everyone else remained silent. Only the swallows chirped as they circled over their heads. For them, the world was all right as long as there were enough flies for their offspring in the summer heat. And Aramis knew _his_ world would be alright as long as there would be mild summer evenings again where he and his brothers had nothing to worry about but the spiciness of their dinner and the drinkability of their wine. Days like that should never end, not because of their ease, but because of their shared brotherhood. It was during those times Aramis never felt alone.

But today the ease had been moved beyond reach, and yet his friends had found their way to his side. Words were dispensable, and Aramis enjoyed the comfort of their talkative silence. Porthos and d'Artagnan were smiling, and Athos' eyebrows were back in their usual place. Again, Athos spread the heavy horse blankets over Aramis and adjusted the saddle pad under his head before he settled next to them on the floor. But it was the warmth of their friendship which settled over the cold of his pain.

Aramis cleared his throat, swallowing away the metallic taste. “Thank you.”

Athos stroked an unruly, sweaty curl from Aramis’ forehead and his mouth curled into one of his rare smiles. “You don’t have to thank us, ever. You needed our help and here we are. It’s just like that, no more and no less.”

Porthos grabbed Aramis’ hand and squeezed it. “He’s damn right, we will always…”

“Ahhhh...stop, please!” Aramis groaned.

Porthos’ eyes widened in surprise. “Sorry, what did I do?”

Dr. Boucher pushed Porthos and d'Artagnan out of the way to examine Aramis' left hand. “Oh, dear, I guess fingers are broken as well.” He felt each limb, which Aramis answered with dirty curses in at least two languages. “I see, the middle finger and ring finger are cleanly broken at the uppermost limb. I will have to splint them. Definitely no dexterity training or any mission for you in the near future.”

Aramis raised his head with a groan. “How long?”

Boucher leaned forward with a pitiful expression on his face. “Hard to tell. You have to give your body whatever time it needs to heal.”

Sighing, Aramis dropped his head back to the ground. _Time is not the problem_. But having to stay behind in the garrison alone, condemned to wait for his brothers to return without any possibility to support them would be the most difficult part.

Athos poked him in the shoulder. “Don't worry, we will find a solution for that too, my friend. Since we are nothing but trouble anyway, Treville will be grateful if we take it easy for a while. Besides, the armory should be tidied and the horses need some extra training."

Aramis smiled. Treville would be damned if he wouldn't entrust the most important missions to his most capable men, but Aramis found reassurance in the thought that his brothers would do everything to stay with him.

In the meantime, Dr. Boucher had mixed his tincture and approached Aramis. “I will now give you some Laudanum. I assume as a soldier you are familiar with substances of this kind?” Without waiting for an answer he advised Athos to support his head so that Aramis could drink. “Five sips are enough to start with, smaller doses work better in a shorter period of time. They are more effective and better tolerated than if you administer too much at once. If I stitch up the wound, I'll give you the next three sips, all right?”

Aramis nodded and closed his eyes. _Sadly, God knows I’ve had enough injuries in my life to have dealt with the drug_. He felt the bitter medicine rolling over his tongue and liquid heat spread through his stomach. Sighing with relief he knew that in a few minutes his agony would be over for now.

As he settled, caught in a deep tiredness, Aramis kept his eyes closed and listened to those around him. Dr. Boucher was clattering again, collecting all the utensils to stuff them into his bag. He heard his brothers stand, move around the stable, and Aramis recognized the sounds of the wheelbarrow being driven out into the stable lane and the pitchforks being leaned against the wall. _Hopefully far away from me._

The doctor’s voice was the first to interrupt his pleasant euphoria. “Very well, I'm ready here. Porthos, find something to carry Aramis, maybe a door or a firmly woven blanket. D'Artagnan, look for some finger-thick pieces of wood or branches so I can splint the broken fingers. Meet me in the infirmary. I must warn you, I will need to rinse the wounds again before I stitch. I sincerely hope that will prevent an infection.”

The regret that echoed in Boucher's voice caused Aramis to open his eyes. Porthos and d'Artagnan offered Aramis a last encouraging look before they joined the doctor and left the stable to carry out their orders, and Aramis was glad that soon he would be transferred to a decent bed.

Aramis felt the familiar warmth and inappropriate sensation of happiness pulsating through his veins instead of pain as the laudanum expressed it’s full effects. His breathing had calmed and the stable suddenly seemed a shade brighter than usual. Dropping down to the ground next to Aramis, Athos leaned against the stall wall. Massaging his temple, his friendseemed so tired. Their glances met.

Running his tongue over his lips, Aramis wished he could stretch out his hand, but the leaden fatigue of the opiate kept him still. “Sorry I scared you so much.”

Athos' voice was soft but scratchy. “You didn't scare me. You scared me to death.”

“I promise to find other ways to call you all to my side…”

Athos raised his eyebrow. “No, you will not. You are and always will be my penance.” He waited a beat before he spoke again. “Wait… is that what this was all about? You wanted us here?”

“Well, yes. But I never meant to take such drastic means. It was a beautiful day, and I only wanted to share it amongst my brothers…”

A shrill neighing echoed from afar. The horses were growing restless, they wanted to escape the insects and heat of the day, and were probably hungry. Soon the stable boys would lead them back to their stalls and once again straw would rustle, a hoofbeat here and there would echo against a stall, and the satisfied chewing or snorting would be heard and the stable would be filled with life.

Athos looked around at the bloody mess surrounding Aramis, then smiled down at him. “The next time you want to spend the day with us, try making us supper… Just don’t serve us Bloody Hay, it’s not very appetizing.”


End file.
